What canary has our dear commander swallowed? Johnny asked. Johnny asked.

Dirk made hurrying motions with his hands and, since speed seemed to be called for, Peter decided to glide instead of walk. It was faster. He did notice the smell of fresh emulsion and wondered if a door was missing on the corridor. Most peculiar. The admiral stopped, ran his card into the security slot at the next door, and gestured for them to enter.

I see a few feathers on his lips, Peter said, and then stopped so quickly that Johnny almost ran him down. Peter said, and then stopped so quickly that Johnny almost ran him down.

Warn me which power you're flying under, pal. Wow! Johnny repeated that aloud as he glanced slowly around the room. Johnny repeated that aloud as he glanced slowly around the room.

"Well?" Dirk asked impatiently.

Both men were slowly and appreciatively absorbing the contents and layout of the s.p.a.cious room. Obviously two smaller units on the CIC floor had been thrown together. This first section contained a suite of couch, chairs, table, and to the right, two doors: one probably the head and the other a service alcove. To the left was the larger room, programmable screens on three sides, storage cabinets underneath, and four ergonomic stations set in a U shape with worktops between.

"The office we've been promising you," Dirk said at his most genial, eager to point out the amenities. He gestured to the screens. "You'll now be able to screen cargo corrals, lists, engineering readiness, and any destination visuals you need to see." He held up a branch of sensor pads. "All you need to record your 'ports." He replaced them carefully and slapped at the padded chair next to him. "Ergonomically conformable chairs, the latest in worktops, extra chairs, and another station for visitors."

"Like Lance Baden, no doubt," Johnny said, with a cynical lift to one eyebrow.

"Yes, he'll be here Friday, won't he?" Dirk rattled on. "The lefthand one is a special link to Engineering. A serving alcove off the main room," he pointed to the door on the left wall. "Coffee, Pete's favorite tea, and high-calorie snacks already stored. Your own head and shower. And a couch long enough for anyone who needs a catnap."

"Indispensable," Johnny said.

"General Greene," Peter said, glaring at his friend. "How can you be so ungrateful? You've been complaining every day since we got back about our need for proper office s.p.a.ce and dedicated equipment."

Dirk laughed and dismissed Johnny's pose. "If he affects that att.i.tude, I know he's well pleased."

"Am I now?" Johnny sent one of the ergonomic chairs spinning. Then he relented and grinned broadly. "It's perfect, Dirk. Even paper for me to doodle on." He touched the pristine pad prominently displayed by the keypanel. "It'll suit us both to the ground, as it were. Won't it, Pete?" He stopped the chair's rotation and sat in it, immediately stretching his legs out under the workstation, before reaching out to align the pad with the edge. "Perfect. Nearly as good as the stuff we've been shipping to First Base," he added with a sly glance at the admiral.

"You are some tulip, Greene," Dirk said, shaking his head.

"Really, Admiral, it's so comfortable-looking," Peter said, imbuing his voice with unreserved approval. "I mean, and the colors are great . . ."

"At least they're not AirForce blue or First Base slate," Johnny remarked, though his glance about the newly fitted room was admiring.

"Oh, do shut up, Johnny," Peter said. "It's exactly what we wanted and what we need."

"I like green," Johnny said meekly. In a single fluid motion that Peter would give anything to be able to perform when he had control of his physical movements, Johnny rose and clapped an arm over Dirk's shoulders. "To tell the truth, I didn't expect anything quite this elegant." He eased Dirk to the door. "We'll transfer our files and let you get back to work."

Sensing that Johnny particularly did not want the admiral to know about Gadriel's circuits yet, Peter flowed forward, quite willing to speed their guest on his way.

"You'll need these," and Dirk handed out two security cards. "Only Barney and I can get in." He a.s.sumed a humble mien. "I hope you don't object to me."

"Never," Johnny said warmly and clapped Dirk on the back once more before he left. "C'mon, Pete, we'd better get moving or our landlord might just evict us for failure to perform." He paused for another moment, though, looking around the well-appointed room, and exhaled in total satisfaction.

With ease, they tuned into the Gadriel circuits and lifted all their files from the conference room, including Johnny's latest doodle pad.

In the next few days, Peter experienced considerable frustration when skills he had struggled so to perform telekinetically, now had to be discarded to retrain himself to do it "normally." He particularly wanted to show Lance how he had progressed but he seemed to get his signals switched.

"What is normal for me, Ceara?" he asked, throwing down the light-pen that he had been using. "I can do so much kinetically that it's almost more of an effort to do it the way everyone else does. And I'm not good enough yet to do what I want to do."

"Even world-cla.s.s artists had to learn to control their tools," she replied.

"You saw me drop the fork at lunch today?"

"Anyone could. A lot of people do," she replied, soothing him with her thoughts. "They think nothing of such a slip."

"Ahhhh, Ceara, don't try to empathize me," he said, eyeing her fiercely.

She blinked and tried to a.s.sume an innocent expression. Then gave a sigh. "Sorry, Peter, it's second nature to me."

That shut off his gripe because it was second nature to them both to use their parapsychic Talents. That was what annoyed him but the paradox existed.

She touched his arm, knowing he liked to be touched now because he had so much more sensation in his limbs. "Remember what you're making progress toward toward," she said with a significant nod.

Peter struggled not to blush. She was a physician, but she was also a very pretty woman and he didn't really feel comfortable with that reference to regaining "normal functions." In her professional capacity, Ceara was up to date on his progress and encouraged him when, as now, he lost patience.

"It won't be long, Peter. Now, shake your hand to relax all the muscles. You've been trying too hard again. I think the image is coming on fine."

"Well," Peter said on a sigh, "I'll try again." He was copying the print of an ancient clipper ship. The sails were very difficult to sketch, with lines and braces. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through his hair in an unconscious gesture of frustration. And froze with surprise when he realized what he'd done. Ceara caught that gesture, too! The pen slipped from his right hand and rolled across the worktop.

"Oh, Peter! You did it. Without thinking. See, your muscles do remember!" She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him on the lips.

Suddenly, he knew what Finn had meant-that the man within him would stand up and be noticed. This was not the bath-giving Nurse Roche. This was Ceara Scott for whom he felt more than empathy at this moment. He caught her arms and held them about his neck, levitating out of his chair and pulling her against him. She returned the embrace enthusiastically. Her eyes widened as she became aware that not only were muscles remembering but also certain glands were in working order.

"Oh, Peter, how marvelous!"

"Ceara," he began. Her mind opened to his completely, filling him with her willingness, an urgency of her own, and an intense desire for intimacy. He was even able to lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed. 'Porting would have been faster, but there were some things a man didn't hurry.

On Friday, while they were waiting for Lance to arrive, Peter wanted to level with the Australian about the Gadriel circuitry.

"It isn't as if he didn't know I tapped into the CERN generators to save us," Peter said.

"Yeah, but do you want to tell him he can't because he's tone-deaf? That's sorta mean, isn't it? Let it be for now. We're not really sure what we're doing anyhow."

Peter reluctantly accepted that argument.

Lance arrived and was suitably impressed with the office. "No names on the door," he remarked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. Then he put his hands on his belt and took a slow look around, nodding as he cataloged the various amenities.

"Hmm, nice digs you've got here." Stepping farther into the room, he rotated one of the conformable chairs. "Bang on."

"Coffee, Lance? Tea?" Peter said, making himself physically walk to the serving alcove.

"Hey, lookit you! On your own, too! That's great, mate. Real great. Couldn't happen to a nicer bloke!" Lance beamed, his eyes crinkling up.

"Coffee? Tea?"

"Tea's fine. Haven't had a proper cuppa since I left First Base." He settled into the chair and exclaimed again as he appreciated its contours, supporting his long frame. "How's Dorotea? Special sort of woman."

"She's fine," Johnny said. "They conclude that she had a pin stroke, T.I.A., and she's on medication to prevent a repeat."

"With Amariyah watching her like a hawk ."

Lance chuckled. "Heard that little bit of nothing rousted everyone out of their skins. Talented, is she?"

Johnny held up both hands. "She "She has to find out for herself." has to find out for herself."

Peter wished that he could broadcast to the world that Amariyah's special Talent had worked a miracle on his body but he perfectly understood the necessity for silence on the subject. In that same instant, he realized not only that he wouldn't want Amariyah to be burdened with trying to heal all the sick of the world-she'd be killed trying and she would try-but also how Rhyssa and Johnny had protected him until he was mature enough to handle his potent abilities. Very few, even those who knew him well, would have noticed his physical changes. And even fewer knew how he had extended his telekinetic and telepathic range.

"What about," Lance paused, rethinking the adjectives he was about to use, "Shimaz and that lot?"

"Wal," Johnny drawled, sitting back and smiling with malice, "InterLEO has been busy tagging anyone and everyone once connected with either Shimaz or Flimflam, or the other suspected accomplices."

"Reprogrammed their ID bands?" Lance asked, idly twisting his own. "Thought they were having a good look at mine when I said I was heading up here."

Johnny nodded. "There are enough regular checks, even on an international basis, to complete the process."

"And the Henner estate is p.r.i.c.kly with sensors-wall, tube, gardens, shrubs, trees, and helipads," Peter said. "Everyone's safe there."

Lance made a rueful noise. "Don't like to think that such precautions had to be taken for us psychics. We should be able to fend for ourselves."

Johnny flicked his fingers. "Sharpen our wits a bit, put us on the qui vive. No harm done, and no harm can be done."

"Did we ever find out who was cheating the Station on fuel?" Peter asked.

Johnny swiveled about to stare at him a moment. "Yes," he said, recalling a conclusion that had obviously slipped his mind during other crises. "Pota Chatham solved it. Every single one of the Station's suppliers was shorting tank refills." He gave his shark's grin. "She thinks that the bean counter at s.p.a.ceShifters started the scam. He's far worse than Taddesse as a CFO. The other suppliers got suspicious, saw a good thing working, and started pumping measures, too. The freighter captains were bribed, or scared, into not reporting the problem until Honeybald started noticing the fall-short dockings. Now all the tanks are filled while one of Dirk's finest watches and guarantees the tank full. The suppliers all had to pay stiff fines for short weights. Thanks." He took the fresh cup of coffee Peter handed him.

"Now . . ." Johnny rubbed his hands together. "What have we got for today? You get a special demonstration, Lance. We got some heavy stuff," and he asked for the list on one of the programmable screens. "And number one is heavy. heavy. Pete, you take that." Pete, you take that."

"Hey, they're both on First Base," Lance said, sitting up straight.

"Yeah, ain't they?" Johnny replied, grinning at him.

"You," and Lance pointed at the general, "can make First Base?"

"Yup, with a little help from my friend here."

"Remember that bollard on the parking field?" Peter asked, thinking that this was an appropriate time to mention the Gadriel circuits.

No. Not yet, said Johnny very tightly. He went on out loud. "It was 'South America' in the astronomy office for me," Johnny said, enjoying Lance's look of awe. "Pete conned me into sending ten kilos to the astronomy office at First Base. South America," he added in voice command and Peter's carefully detailed image came up on the screen. said Johnny very tightly. He went on out loud. "It was 'South America' in the astronomy office for me," Johnny said, enjoying Lance's look of awe. "Pete conned me into sending ten kilos to the astronomy office at First Base. South America," he added in voice command and Peter's carefully detailed image came up on the screen.

"Well, I never!" Lance began. "How much can you shift?" he asked, professionally intrigued.

"I don't want to make him run before he can walk," Peter replied, mimicking Johnny's drawl.

"Wish I could get the hang of the gestalt," Lance said ruefully, shaking his head.

"You're not the only one," Johnny remarked, c.o.c.king his head significantly at Peter. "Still we won't hold that against you, will we, Pete?"

Abruptly the main screen lit up with the head and shoulders of a very worried Dirk Coetzer. His eyes took in the three men in the office.

"Good, you're all there." He took a deep breath as he turned to Peter. "I know this may be totally impossible, Pete, but we've just had a Mayday from Marspolar. They've had an equipment failure. The humidifier's conked out. Has been for days and now other sensitive equipment is showing the effects. So are their tempers. If we don't get replacement parts to them in the next two days, there'll be major system failures." He paused.

"You know, Dirk," Johnny drawled, "the three of us might just be able to make it that far. If the spares aren't heavy."

Are you out of your tree? Lance exclaimed. Lance exclaimed.

No, just out on a limb.

"We'll need the clearest visuals of Marspolar you have, Dirk," Peter said. "Do you have replacement parts on hand up here?"

"In the priority cargo net, ready for the supply ship due to go next week. Next week'll arrive too late," he said grimly. He looked to one side. "Thanks, Nicola. Waybill AF 44MPS8276."

"I copy," Peter said.

"I fetch," Johnny said and the vacuum-sealed units appeared on the table in the lounge of the office suite, covering it.

Lance whistled.

I'm getting very good at this, Johnny said. "Doesn't ma.s.s much, Pete." Johnny said. "Doesn't ma.s.s much, Pete."

This time, General Greene, you do the 'port with me!

You bet!

"Where's my visual, Dirk?"

"There's not much s.p.a.ce available, Pete. The dome is cramped."

"Surely they have a table to eat off of," Peter said testily. His mind was humming as he antic.i.p.ated the demand on his abilities.

"Yes, but I don't have any visual of the catering area."

"A workstation?" Peter was getting anxious. It was inconceivable that there wasn't anything available to "see." "Surely there've been tapes of their accommodations, their work s.p.a.ces, the hydroponics unit?"

"The Amazon Amazon craft they came in would be empty," Johnny suggested, and called up a visual of the interior of the Mars ship. "Enough s.p.a.ce there. I got the VIP tour when it was up on the gantries." craft they came in would be empty," Johnny suggested, and called up a visual of the interior of the Mars ship. "Enough s.p.a.ce there. I got the VIP tour when it was up on the gantries."

"Might be a tight fit," Peter said.

"Plenty of floor s.p.a.ce right now." Johnny added dimensions of the main cabin at the base of the visual.

"They went to Mars in that?" that?" Lance was incredulous, his eyes flicking around the much larger office. "No wonder they don't have spares." Lance was incredulous, his eyes flicking around the much larger office. "No wonder they don't have spares."

"Used parachute drones to land supplies. Tedious work." Johnny shot Peter a look.

"We'll give our best shot, Dirk," Peter said, physically and clumsily moving to the chair at the engineering station. He didn't want to waste an ounce of mental energy before this crucial long 'port. Thank G.o.d for Tomas Gadriel. The circuits would make the difference.

I'm with you all the way, Pete, Johnny said, skidding his chair over to Peter's and gripping his arm. Lance pushed in on the other side, taking Peter's free hand in a firm clasp. Johnny said, skidding his chair over to Peter's and gripping his arm. Lance pushed in on the other side, taking Peter's free hand in a firm clasp.

The generators sang the most beautiful C major chord Peter had ever heard.

Peter got "hold" of the net.